The Eleventh Hour
by Victoria to Worthing
Summary: Set during the final show. Satine's regrets and wishes. Please review!


My first MR fan fic! A short one, and kind of weird since I don't even favor stories about Satine much, usually. For some reason, though, this ficlet appeared in my head, so I hope you like it! Please review! 

I've wished to die many times before, believe me. But now that I'm in the position to have those careless wishes made on starless nights come true, I've realized that even though I've thrown every bit of my energy and my talent into every moment of my life at the Moulin Rouge, there are so many things that I have left unsaid. I would give my life for my work, but nothing had persuaded me to show my heart, not until Christian came. And now I'm hiding again, shut up in my dressing room, adorning myself, becoming beautiful and lonely like I used to be, preparing to go onstage and make people believe what they want to believe.

My first thought, of course, is for the face nearest to me. Marie. I'd want to thank her for taking care of me. Generous love is rare in this world, and rarer still in the Moulin Rouge.

I hear Harold stomping around on stage, his booming voice echoing off the flimsy wooden walls. When I think of him, my benefactor, my slavedriver, my starmaker, my jailer, my father… my head spins with conflicting thoughts. He has driven me toward stardom, feeding all my childish dreams and my womanly aspirations. He took me in from the streets and turned me into the Sparkling Diamond—a laughing, beautiful, luminous jewel. But he did all this for his own gain. He tried to destroy the one pure thing I've found inside these accursed walls, the greatest love. But even as my anger rises to the top of this mess, I can't bring up enough fury to hate him. He's sheltered me, he's encouraged me, he's given me my dreams even though they ended up trapping me… even though he's doomed me to almost the worst fate I can imagine just to save his own dreams. There is no real answer for how I feel about Harold. He's made me feel loved sometimes. How wide is the gap between feeling someone's love and truly having it? I shouldn't worry about these things now. Maybe I'll know soon. Maybe that's what you get to make up for dying, answers to all your questions, reasons for your suffering, forgiveness for your sins… I shouldn't think like this. It's useless. I'm confused enough just thinking about the matters that come _before _death. And if there is a reward after death, I'm sure I don't deserve it.

I hear the shrill voices of the chorus rising. I'd like to tell all of them I'm sorry for my fits of impatience or self-indulgence, sorry that I hid myself away so often. Being treated like a star makes you act like one, and sometimes that's not such a good thing, I've realized. I suppose any ordinary person could have told you that already. I'm a strange one—exposed to all the outrageous things in the world but a relative innocent when it comes to what's called common decency.

Nini's voice rises above the clamor, of course. She never _can _be drowned out. Hard as it would be to force out the words, I would have to tell Nini that I'm sorry for showing off around her sometimes, pulling rank in the pecking order. She wants success as much as I do, maybe even more, and she deserves better than what she's had.

I'd also like to tell her that the Argentinean can't keep his eyes off of her, so she needs to go ahead and put him out of his misery.

Being in love with a penniless Bohemian is not nearly as bad as it sounds, I would have to add.

Toulouse wanders past the door in his ridiculous sitar suit, and I can't help but smile. I'd have to tell him things, too. He's easy to overlook, easy to dismiss, laughing and joking and sketching pictures in his corner, but I've seen him looking so lost sometimes, even in the midst of his friends. He's a miracle, really. Someone so unbeautiful creates such beauty. Someone so trapped in his own body strives so hard for freedom. Someone so hungry for love pours love out. Someone in this world of lies creates truth.

"The greatest thing you'll ever learn, is just to love, and be loved in return!" He mutters fiercely as he shuffles past the door again, trying to burn the line into his chaotic mind.

I close my eyes as though something had struck me. Christian's words. He leaves, but his words remain. They come out of my own mouth, out of the mouths of everyone in our fabricated world. Our love story, immortalized in a strange setting. I can't escape. I'm trapped, in the maze of his words, giving the performance of my life… utterly alone again.

What could I tell Christian? I could thank him for so much, praise him for so much… berate him for so much of my pain, and apologize to him for causing so much of his own. But in the end, I know I'd just have to say "You were right." Because I love him still. And because in the end, love is all that matters.

I just wish that I could say that this was not the end for me, that I still had some love to keep me alive. But I gaze into my own pale face, my own cold eyes, and I see the face of death, disguised as it is with powder and paint. And if the love that was supposed to conquer all has failed, maybe I should be glad that I get a chance to fly away at last.


End file.
